


Into his arms

by philaetos



Series: Carry On Countdown 2020 [5]
Category: Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), Dancing, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life, Slow Dancing, They’re married!!!!, and they have a daughter!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:40:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27780169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philaetos/pseuds/philaetos
Summary: Sleepless nights were always lonely moments. Just me and the night sky.Now that has changed.Written for the Carry On CountdownDay 5 : Sleepless
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Carry On Countdown 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2030371
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2020





	Into his arms

**Author's Note:**

> this is the kind of future i want them to have

**Baz**

Sleepless nights are not at all unusual for me.

When I was a child, I’d stay up all night, playing games, reading books, and being scolded by Vera when she caught me awake very late.

When I was at Watford, I’d stay up all night, watching Snow for a bit, and then going to the Catacombs, only coming back an hour or so before be woke up so that he thought I spent the night here and didn’t start accusing me of plotting. 

When I lived at his flat, I’d stay up all night, watching the television in the living room or going for a walk when I felt like it.

Those sleepless nights were always lonely moments. Just me and the night sky.

Now that has changed.

Simon says he can’t sleep when I’m not with him, and at first, I thought it was just some cheesy thing he told me to be romantic, but it turns out that it’s true. Since we moved in our house, when I get out of bed at night, he usually wakes up too, some twenty, thirty minutes later. Tonight is no exception.

I’m in the kitchen baking chocolate chip cookies that I’m sure Tasha will love devouring for breakfast. The little thing once said, all excited, that she liked it when I stayed up all night because I always made her something nice for breakfast. 

She really is her father’s daughter.

Her father, who is currently wrapping his arms around my middle, burying his face between my shoulders blades. The kitchen is hot because of the oven heating, but it’s his presence that really makes me feel warm. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks. “Nightmare or insomnia?”

“Insomnia.”

He hums, kissing me where his lips are pressed against me, before he moves his head to rest his chin on my shoulder. When I turn my own head to kiss his cheek, my hair tickles him, making him giggle. It’s one of the loveliest sounds I’ve ever heard, Simon’s laugh. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of hearing it. 

“Are you going to stay with me or try going back to bed?”

It’s the holidays, I’m not really expecting him to leave, but I’d rather ask. I like it a lot when he keeps me company, even if I feel a bit guilty that he doesn’t get the sleep he needs.

“Stay. I’ll take a nap with the little one in the afternoon,” he answers with a yawn.

“Okay,” I smile.

I feel him rest more of his weight on my body, really leaning against me. The counter digs in my stomach a bit uncomfortably, but I couldn’t care less.

Simon doesn’t say anything, so I just continue what I was doing, forming small balls with the cookie dough and putting them on the tray. There’s no sound in the kitchen except for the rustling of the baking sheet, Snow’s breathing, and the soft music that’s playing from my phone. It’s peaceful. 

After a few seconds of this, Simon reaches out with his hand to pick a tiny piece of chocolate from the dough. Merlin, he’s a child. 

I slap his hand with the tip of my fingers. 

“Keep your dirty hands off my cookie dough.”

“You can’t just make food in front of me and expect me not to want a taste,” he teases, trying to steal some more chocolate. 

I slap his hand again. “Stop this,” I say, laughter in my voice as I reach for the bag of chocolate chips, giving him a handful of them. “Eat that chocolate and leave my cookies alone. What will your daughter say if I give her chocolate chip cookies without chocolate chips, huh?”

His right arm lets go of me long enough for me to pour the chocolate in his hand, and for him to throws it all in his mouth before he holds me again. 

Once he swallowed the chocolate, he cocks an eyebrow at me. He’s become better at that, after seeing me do it for years. “She’s _my_ daughter now? I thought she was _your_ perfect little girl.”

“Darling, you should know by now, when I talk about any of her bad traits, she’s _your_ daughter. Same thing goes for her love for food. Because she definitely got all of that from you.”

“I’m pretty sure that half of her bad character is your fault. You’re not exactly the most pleasant person on earth to be around, are you?” he says, his fingers absentmindedly starting to tap my stomach. 

I turn around in his arms as best as I can pressed like that against the counter. “Come on, I’m a delight.”

He snorts. “Believe what makes you happy, I guess.”

I just roll my eyes at him, before I put my arms around his neck. A smile tugs at his lips when I do, but it can’t quite spread because I’m catching his lips with mine, giving him a sweet, slow kiss. He lets go a bit more in my embrace, getting impossibly closer to me. I can feel the warmth of his body through the fabric of my shirt, I can even faintly feel his heartbeat if I focus on it. 

Those are the kind of moments I love. 

I love our daughter with everything I have, but she requires so much of our attention, of our time, Simon and I rarely get to have time alone like this, just the two of us, like we used to before we were parents. It feels good to feel like someone’s husband, not someone’s father for a moment. 

When I pull back, leaning my forehead against his, he whispers. “Remember when we moved here, all the things I did to you on this counter.”

Aleister Crowley.

“Keep your dirty thoughts to yourself, we’re having a romantic moment,” I mumble back, amusement shining through my voice. 

He holds me tighter. “Are we?”

I nod before pushing him away, just enough to move next to him instead of being between him and the counters. “Yes. Let’s dance,” I decree as I grab my phone. 

“Dance? It’s like 4 in the morning, love,” he complains, but he has a smile in his voice.

Simon doesn’t really like dancing, because he’s a clumsy fool without an ounce of grace in his entire body, but he knows I love it, and he likes holding me close, so he indulges me sometimes. 

“So? We did worse things than that at 4 in the morning,” I tell him as I look for one song in particular. 

“Hey, I thought you said no dirty thoughts.”

“I told you to keep your dirty thoughts to yourself, I didn’t say anything about mine.” I give him a smirk as I put the phone down on the counter again, clicking play.

I feel like he wants to answer something, but he seems to forget it when he hears the first notes of the song. His eyes go soft as he offers me his hand. 

“Into my arms,” he says, his voice so awfully tender.

Nick Cave. The first song we danced to, all those years ago, at the Leavers Ball, and the song that played during our first dance at our wedding. 

I take his hand in mine, my other hand resting on his hip as his is on my shoulder, and I start rocking us to the rhythm of the music. Soon enough, Simon gets fed up with dancing like that, and he simply put his arms around my waist, mine automatically closing around his shoulders. We’re in the same position as when I kissed him, except for the fact that we’re slowly swinging in place, to still be somehow dancing. 

I must admit it’s a much better position. I feel so at peace here with him, in our pyjamas, the dim light above the stove casting shadows on his beautiful face. 

He catches me staring, and he smiles at me. “I love you.”

I thought that after so long, the words would lose their meaning. That it wouldn’t feel as good as it used to, hearing them. But they still take my breath away a little, every time he says them. 

“I love you too,” I whisper, like it’s a secret, like it’s not something I’ve murmured, said, shouted a million times already.

His hold on me tightens, and I feel warmth course through me. I never feel quite as safe as I do into his arms. 


End file.
